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Daniel Hales

Tempo Map 8

 

 

it’s been a few months, and i’d thought it was only about 30, 40 minutes away in southern new hampshire, but now it may even be somewhere in the hudson river valley. the yard looks bigger.

 

i don’t go to that room though its nearness quickens me. just knowing it’s still there. and maybe better to wait till next time.

 

i meet the neighbors by accident. i test out the swing in their yard. they have lively, otherwise unmemorable children, parents are stranger than they at first appear in ways i can’t remember.

 

mike mows my lawn, sullen and sweaty, and the yard really looks a lot larger now.

 

and there’s apple, next door, who acts like we’re an intimate, complicated relationship, though i’ve just moved there, or are soon to, or maybe just visiting.

 

due to a low overhanging eave, we crawl to exit her house. she leaves in a big hurry carrying a toaster, a roll of saran wrap, a half-empty sheath of coffee filters. but once outside she sets everything down. i scramble to grab it all, hurry to catch up.

 

 

Tempo Map 21

 

 

Once we stop praying to anomalies and impossibilities is when bad luck starts.

 

The headlights lit up the backyard

and for some reason remind me of being little or different people I miss.

 

 

Tempo Map 23

 

 

Woke up twice as tired. Then at some point I’m in the basement snipping up credit cards with dull scissors. I score a pull through at the hardware store. Continue writing a song about someone it isn’t about. That’s about how effortlessly a day can unspool. Tempo’s always there, latent signatures modulated by all kinds. What if this lighter has only one spark left. What if I turn right at the next intersection.

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